


Silver Lines

by h311agay



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Ultimateverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: 3rd pov, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cheating, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, M/M, pietros pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 14:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21303584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h311agay/pseuds/h311agay
Summary: When they finished their meals, Jean-Paul gulped down his remaining wine and stood. “I’m going to use the restroom before we leave,” he said as he walked past, dragging his hand teasingly across Pietro’s chest. It made electricity course through Pietro’s veins, and he was reminded of how innocently this had all started. How he had only wanted to be someone for Jean-Paul to lean on. Now it was a game of hiding in plain sight.
Relationships: Crystal Amaquelin/Pietro Maximoff, Jean-Paul Beaubier/Pietro Maximoff, Jean-Paul Beaubier/Piotr Rasputin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Silver Lines

**Author's Note:**

> This is shameless. I will not apologise for it.

For three years now, every Saturday evening had been the same.

Jean-Paul and Pietro were planning to meet at a jazz bar in northern Queens for dinner and drinks. It was cozy environment; the kind where you expect people to be wearing slacks and vests at the very _ least _. Dim, yet warm lights above each table. Smooth jazz being performed by a live band on the center stage, with a bright spotlight focused on them. The hostess lead them to their reserved table. This was a sophisticated establishment; a place for self-proclaimed “elites” in all factions of life to gather and look down on people who were “less than”. It was the perfect place for the two to gossip - ignored by the other patrons because, here, everyone was too good to talk to anyone else. Here Jean-Paul and Pietro were ignored; unseen.

Pietro sat down across from Jean-Paul. He was dressed in a slim suit with a low cut blazer and no tie. Jean-Paul was dressed in nice, dark brown slacks, with a creamy long-sleeved button up and a dark brown vest to match. His sleeves were rolled up. That was always a welcome sight to Pietro.

Pietro had been the one to reach out between the two of them. Jean-Paul had been recently wheelchair bound when he did, and Pietro had known what it was like to lose not just his ability to walk, but to _ run _ . For someone like him and Jean-Paul, running was who they were. Their very reason for living in this world was because they could run. It was _ who _ they were. Thee freedom Pietro felt when he ran was something that had gone unmatched the entirety of his life. He had never felt anything more meaningful, fulfilling, and natural to him.

He had suspected Jean-Paul had felt the same way about his powers.

Pietro knew not only the _ wonder _ of running, he also knew the pain of losing the ability to do so.The utter despair of feeling so stuck in one place. To feel the powers you contain buzzing under your skin, burning to be released, and being unable to do anything about it. He knew what it was like to be stuck in a chair, dependant on others to help you access the world now, when before, you could disappear in a breath’s moment, to experience the entirety of the world. As soon as Pietro had heard about what happened to Jean-Paul, he had extended his support to him. He knew that nobody else could possibly fathom the pain and sorrow that Jean-Paul was going through. Pietro saw it as the most selfless thing he had ever done in his life. The two of them had been able to set aside their past differences to bond.

A year later, and it was as if by miracle: Jean-Paul was walking again.To celebrate, they had gotten dinner on that Saturday. Three years later, it had gone from an innocent bonding experience between two friends, to what could very well be one of the most selfish things Pietro ever allowed himself to do. The craziest part was that Jean-Paul had made the first move to take what they were doing to another level.

Pietro watched as Jean-Paul spoke about nothing in particular, as he drank from his wine glass, the way his muscles in his arms moved. He watched Jean-Paul hungrily, eyes burning. Jean-Paul lifted his drink to his mouth again, and Pietro’s eyes locked with his. Jean-Paul smirked before swallowing slowly.

Pietro licked his lips as he watched the other man. He knew Jean-Paul was watching for his reaction, and he knew by the way Jean-Paul licked the alcohol off his mouth, he had been pleased with it. They locked eyes intensely.

Pietro’s attention was taken off of Jean-Paul by the arrival of their food. They talked about nothing in particular while they ate. Politics, art and music. But never about Piotr or Crystal. It was an unspoken rule that they didn’t mention their partners while they were out having dinner. In fact, Pietro wasn’t even wearing his wedding ring. Saturday night dinners were strictly about the pair.

When they finished their meals, Jean-Paul gulped down his remaining wine and stood. “I’m going to use the restroom before we leave,” he said as he walked past, dragging his hand teasingly across Pietro’s chest. It made electricity course through Pietro’s veins, and he was reminded of how innocently this had all started. How he had only wanted to be someone for Jean-Paul to lean on. Now it was a game of hiding in plain sight.

When Jean-Paul returned, he gave Pietro a hard look. “Ready to head out?”

Pietro grinned, “In a hurry tonight?”

“I’m always in a hurry.”

They paid their bill and sauntered out of the restaurant slowly, arms linked together. Once they were outside and away from prying eyes, they were gone, speeding off together to the hotel room Pietro had booked for the night. The pair made it into the room, and as soon as the door was closed and locked, Jean-Paul pushed Pietro up against the wall and kissed him eagerly. Their hands moved quickly, their clothing falling to the floor in a pile at their feet. They were using their body language and soft sounds to communicate what they wanted from each other. 

Pietro gasped and arched forward when Jean-Paul’s hand wrapped around his half-hard cock. He definitely wasn’t thinking about his wife right now, or Jean-Paul’s boyfriend. All he was thinking about was Jean-Paul’s mouth, Jean-Paul’s hand, _ Jean-Paul _.

He moved them both toward the bed, kissing Jean-Paul roughly, biting his bottom lip hard and begging the other to open up his mouth with his tongue. He heard Jean-Paul moan the familiar soft moan he always made when he started fingering himself. And that moan made it so his mouth opened up. Pietro took the invitation. He could taste the wine Jean-Paul had been drinking; it was bitter and robust. Jean-Paul whined as they landed on the bed, his breath hitched and he bucked his hips upwards toward Pietro. Pietro knew that meant he had gotten a third finger in, and soon enough, he’d be inside of the other.

He rocked his hips down against Jean-Paul, kissing him harder and more forcefully. “I’m ready,” the other man groaned. “Fuck me, Pietro.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he muttered, rolling off of the other to snatch up the condom he left on the nightstand earlier. He rolled it on before spitting into his hand and coating his dick in it. When he went to get back onto the bed, Jean-Paul pushed him backwards and climbed on top, straddling Pietro’s hips.

He spread himself apart and began to sink down onto Pietro’s cock. He whined and it was the most provocative and lewd noise Pietro had ever had the pleasure of hearing. “Fuck, Pietro,” Jean-Paul whimpered, rocking his hips and fucking himself on Pietro. “Fuck me like you _ mean it _.”

Pietro took that as his cue to move, slamming his hips up against the other. He watched with feverish glee as Jean-Paul threw his head back, expletives dropping off his tongue in both English and French. He watched as Jean-Paul’s cock bounced up and down in time with them.

For a moment, Pietro felt guilt. This wasn’t a side of Jean-Paul that people often saw, and if Piotr knew that Jean-Paul was fucking himself senseless on Pietro’s dick, it would _ crush _ the other. But almost as quickly as he felt the guilt, it disappeared. 

He fucked Jean-Paul until he was screaming Pietro’s name, begging for more shortly before coming onto Pietro’s abdomen. He dug his nails into Pietro’s upper arms, and panted, whined, and keened in pleasure, fucking himself faster and more erratically. Pietro finally came; he pulled Jean-Paul down into another sloppy kiss, teeth clashing. He jerked Jean-Paul off until he came again, and only then did he stop fucking Jean-Paul hard and fast. He gave a final few slow rolls of his hips. Jean-Paul whimpered and jerked with each one. His arms were on either side of Pietro’s head, hands in his now messy hair, kissing him between desperate moans. 

Pietro finally stopped, pulling out and pulling Jean-Paul into his arms, gently running his fingers through the other’s hair, kissing his forehead. When Jean-Paul finally stopped shuddering in his arms, Pietro helped him out of bed and into a shower with him. They slowly and gently cleaned the other off, kissing slowly and laughing as the water got into their faces. They practically glowed in post-sex bliss.

They dried off and got dressed, helping to smooth out the wrinkles in each others clothing, kissing and talking as they both prepared to head back out. It was after they fucked that they would finally allow themselves to talk about their partners outside of this affair. “Make sure to tell Piotr I heard about his mother from Wanda. Let him know I’m terribly sorry to hear and I hope she makes a speedy recovery. A broken hip is no joke.”

“I will, he’ll appreciate that. Tell Crystal I say hi. Piotr and I should stop by one of these days and see the baby again.” “Crystal would love to have you guys over for dinner.”

Jean-Paul finished smoothing out Pietro’s blazer. “I’ll talk to Piotr about it and give you a call. Still good for Saturday next week?”

“Always. Crystal knows Saturday evenings are when you and I hang out. She says you’re my only friend.” He sighed and stepped closer to Jean-Paul, cupping his face in his hands. “I’m heading out now,” he muttered, pressing their foreheads together. Jean-Paul threaded his fingers into Pietro’s hair. 

“I hate this part,” Jean-Paul admitted.

“I do, too.” He kissed Jean-Paul on final time. “See you on Saturday.,” he said, before he left Jean-Paul behind in the hotel room. He got home, and threw his blazer over the back of the chair in the entryway.

He slowly made his way upstairs and into Luna’s room. He watched his daughter sleep peacefully for a few moments before Crystal came up from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Come to bed, Pietro.”


End file.
